A Matter of Time
by The Self-Inking Quill
Summary: Harry Potter is dead, as is Lord Voldemort. Neither survived. However, Ronald Weasley thinks he can change those events for the better, if only he could do it all over again. If only matters were that simple.
1. The Beginning

**A Matter of Time**

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of the canon Harry Potter characters present in this work.

The Beginning

1998

Ron and Hermione were still asleep: good. They should never have been involved in the first place. This final fate was meant for him alone. In a few hours it would all be over: one way or another.

"He's dead Hermione! Don't you get it! Maybe, if I had gone, if he hadn't had to be so bloody noble and selfless and stupid, it could have been me instead!"

"He did it for us, Ron: for the entire world."

"We stand here today to mourn, perhaps, the youngest and greatest hero…"

"We've done it before! We could do it again!"

"The Ministry of Magic awards Harry Potter The Order of Merlin, First Class post-humorously. For service to the crown, the honourable minister Rufus Scrimgeour awards The Order of Merlin, Second Class to Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley in absentia."

"You could destroy everything!"

"As if there's anything worth having after…"

Hermione was asleep: good. Just a little insurance was necessary: "Coego Somnus." She had refused to help him. Oh well. It would all be over a few years ago: some sacrifices could not be borne.

"Welcome to The Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Ronald Weasley: I'm here to pick something up."

A single badge slid out of the coin return slot in the telephone booth: _Ronald Weasley_, Acquisition.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant morning."

"Someone broke into the department of Mysteries this morning: stunned a pair of aurors and a half-dozen unspeakables."

"But we had won. Voldemort is dead. Who could possibly-"

"It wasn't a Death Eater. From what we heard, Ronald Weasley walked into the Department, caught the two aurors by surprise, and hit the unspeakables with a powerful disarming curse before they could draw their wands."

"But why? I mean… He's a hero! I gave him The Order of Merlin!"

"The time room was broken into, Minister. We have determined that Mr. Weasley has traveled to the year 1991. We suspect he plans to save Harry Potter's life, likely by confronting The Dark Lord."

"Can you stop him?"

"Maybe."

1991

"Phineas, it has been too long since your portrait last graced my walls."

"I am not here to exchange pleasantries, Albus."

"I suppose I am in store for a lecture then."

"No. Someone has broken into the Black Manor."

"Who?"

"I don't know, or I would have told you, wouldn't I have?"

"Was anything of value taken?"

"No. The intruder took nothing except for one of Regulus' old trinkets: a heavy golden locket. It seems strange that such a competent thief would choose such a trifling prize, does it not?"

"Do you remember anything else about the locket, Phineas?"

"I never gave such a tiny piece any thought before. The one noticeable characteristic I recall was that it did not bear the mark of our house. Rather, it had inscribed upon it the Slytherin crest."

For a moment, Dumbledore seemed to freeze in place, shock which many who knew him would have thought impossible dancing across his visage.

"What is it Albus? What do you know?"

Albus P.W.B Dumbledore simply replied with a tired half-grimace, shoulders slumping.

"Know? I know very little, my friend, but I have many suspicions."

Gesturing idly, the headmaster summoned a quill and parchment to his hand. Rolling the parchment out along his desk, he dipped his quill in a nearby pot of ink, and began to hastily penning a letter.

"Nicholas and I will have to accelerate our plans. Matters are coming to a head far more swiftly than I anticipated."

For not the first time, Phineas Nigellus glared at Hogwarts present headmaster.

"For a Gryffindor, Albus, you have an infuriating habit of speaking in riddles."

"What form more appropriate, though Phineas, for our subject. Your diction is quite apt in this circumstance."

For the first time since the former headmaster's news Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile, blue eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. Unsurprisingly, Phineas simply snorted in response.

1998

Hermione was having an awful morning. She had woken up hours later than she had expected to find a team of four curse-breakers and two aurors futilely attempting to break through the wards on Godric's Hollow. Honestly, she Harry, Ron, Professor McGonnagall and a good half of the Weasley family had spent nearly two months carefully constructing wards strong enough to hold off even Voldemort himself. Did they really expect to crack through the barriers in a few minutes?

Coming out to see why the Ministry had sent a good chunk of its security personnel over in order to break into Harry's one-time home, the young witch found herself whisked away in a matter of moments to that self-same Ministry. She had not even had time to find and tell Ron, whom she had been planning to confront that morning regarding his time traveling threats. Now Hermione found herself sitting in a room deep in the bowels of The Ministry of Magic with one of the more esotheric groups she had ever seen assembled.

Apparently, not contented with hassling her that morning, Rufus Scrimgeour had sent teams out to bring in Ginny from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan from whatever he had been doing (the well-remembered prankster's decided nonchalance when questioned on said matter made her feel that, perhaps, she would be better not knowing), as well as Tonks, who had actually had a team of aurors apparate into her flat while she was showering. Recalling the less than flattering tones with which Tonks referred to her predominantly male colleagues, Hermione felt particularly grateful that her current abode was so thoroughly warded.

Abruptly, the door to the chamber opened, allowing a pair of new figures to enter. The first, tall and even more serious than usual, was Kingsley Shacklebolt, a major member of The Order of The Phoenix, as well as the current Deputy Head of the auror department. Behind him strode a decidedly smaller witch: almost timid in appearance. Carrol Bones, as her identification badge displayed, looked, although smaller in stature, quite similar to another Bones, who had been in Hermione's year at Hogwarts: Susan. Both shared the stocky build and auburn hair so characteristic of the ancient wizarding family.

"I am glad that you have all arrived so promptly," Kingsley began. "You are all here because Britain is suffering from one of the most perilous circumstances in its long history. I regret to inform you that Ronald Weasley, sometime early this morning, succeeded in traveling nearly a decade backwards in time. Ms. Bones," he nodded briefly towards his companion, "an expert in temporal mechanics, hypothesizes that The Ministry has approximately ten hours to act before we begin to feel the effects of his actions. As such, the Minister has authorized the dispatch of a team capable of bringing Mr. Weasley back, if possible, or, if not, killing him before we begin to lose causal integrity."

The entire room had fallen into a shocked silence following the deputy minister's initial pronouncement. Hermione's face had gone completely pale, as her brain, for once seemingly uncomprehending, repeated the words "killing him" over and over.

"I understand that you are shocked, but we must act quickly. Each of you has talents or insight which this team may need, if we are to catch Mr. Weasley without unduly damaging our history. Thus, I must ask you to decide now whether you will be accompanying me in this sojourn. Do not make the choice lightly; if you agree, the Ministry has authorized me to take from each of you an unbreakable vow that you will take no unnecessary actions to damage our timeline."

Unbreakable vows were not something to take lightly, but, all things considered, they were an excellent countermeasure to protect against tampering with time; one could not benefit from temporal manipulation if one was dead.

Hermione did not truly feel as if she had a choice, however. Ron was her friend, and, if anyone could convince him to come home alive, it was her. She had already lost one best friend, and was not willing to lose another under any circumstances. The brilliant witch saw a similar determination alight in Ginny's eyes, which was no surprise. After all, her and Ginny's circumstances were remarkably similar. Lee had looked almost sick when he first heard about the unbreakable vow, but, gradually, he was starting to look increasingly certain and decided; Hermione was nearly sure Lee Jordan did not plan on leaving. Tonks was, perhaps, the quickest to decide of all four wizards and witches. She still was known to feel guilty that Sirius had died, and likely feared losing Remus Lupin to some arbitrary shift in the timeline (their relationship, now quite strong, had required such a tenuous commencement); her decision was a simple one.

Kingsley had clearly expected swift decisions, for he had not even left the room during the five minutes in which the quartet silently deliberated. As, one by one, each confirmed his or her affirmative reply, the experienced auror's eyes grew no warmer. The vows were made and magically confirmed; a slightly more detailed briefing occurred; resources were procured; within six hours, Hermione Granger found herself traveling to August 20th, 1991.

1991

Time travel was bloody confusing. His first actions, upon arriving in the past, were actually fairly simple: he had walked into the Black Manor, and grabbed the easiest to retrieve of You-Know-Who's horcruxes. Admittedly, Ron needed to stun Kreacher and Mrs. Black went into a bit of a fit about blood traitor scum invading her ancestral home, but that had been expected. Then the youngest of The Weasley boys had to reckon with a very uncomfortable reality; he did not have a clue what he was doing.

Between Harry, Hermione, Dumbledore, and himself, the horcruxes had barely gotten destroyed the first time around. Even if he did manage that, however, he had no idea how he could even hope to kill You-Know-Who. Admittedly, Ron had picked up a few tricks last year, but, if it came down to a duel between him and Tom Riddle, he was, quite simply, a dead wizard. Moreover, Ron did not even have a place to sleep, or even an identity for that matter. Fred and George once talked about a place to get forged identification, but he had long forgotten any details. At least, he had a source of gold, even if he felt terrible using the vault.

Surprisingly, at least to Ron, Harry had written a will in which he left Ron his Gringotts key. Probably, he would have never used the key under normal circumstances, but he needed the funds badly, if he was going to save Harry's life. Besides, he could pay his best mate back later; it was, really, more of a loan, all things considered.

As Ron strode into the Wizarding Bank, he passed his key to one of the more clueless looking goblins; this venture would be chancy enough without having to reckon with a shrewd goblin. After all, while he was about the correct age, and had the characteristic Weasley hair, his planned charade could backfire ridiculously easily.

"Name and business?"

"I'm Charlie Weasley: here to pick up some gold for Harry Potter's welfare on Dumbledore's orders."

The goblin eyed him carefully, but not for too long.

"A Weasely you certainly look. Do you have Mr. Potter's key then?"

"Of course."

He passed the key over, and watched carefully as the goblin carefully inspected its authenticity.

"Everything appears in order then. Follow me."

Ron proceeded, removing a few hundred galleons from his friend's vault rather guiltily, despite his inward insistence that this was just a loan. Besides Harry still had a small fortune left in his vault; he could more than afford his tuition.

However, even a million galleons would not help him too much, if he could not come up with a plan, or at least a way of dodging whomever Dumbledore would send once he found out a Weasley impostor with a replica of Harry's key had been traipsing through Diagon Alley. Then, almost absentmindedly, he caught sight of a sign in the window of the Apothecary.

_Surprise friends and family with a whole new you! Aging potions of all varieties available and on sale now!_

Ron recalled Fred and George once more, who had attempted to age up a bit to enter The Triwizard Tournament by 'aging up' a few months. He grinned suddenly, having a rather brilliant thought, if he did think so himself. He did not need an identity. He already had one. All Ron had to do was shave a few years off.

Turning rather suddenly, and bumping into a rather plump witch as a result, Ron moved to enter the apothecary.

"Young man, show some respect!"

No cranky old biddy was going to upset Ron now, however. He had a positively perfect plan. Dumbledore would never find him; he would be on hand to safeguard Harry; he would even have access to Hogwarts' library in a week, in order to help him figure out how to retrieve the horcruxes. The young man simply replied with a grin, ignoring the older lady's huffing as he stepped into the shop.

"I'm looking for a year's worth of deaging potion: seven year vintage.

The shop owner quirked an interested eyebrow upwards. "Planning on recapturing your youth, sonny?"

"Something like that, yeah," the time traveler replied nonchalantly.

"It'll cost yeh a pretty sickle that will. I figure you'll be needing about six hundred and fifty hundred galleons to afford that."

"I'll pay half now and the other half once my first six months are up then. Is that alright with you?"

The older man's eyes shone greedily. "More than acceptable. I'll have to deliver it in smaller lots of course. You'll need to take one portion each day for full effect, and I don't have more than a month's worth of that vintage on hand."

"One month lots are fine. Send the owls addressed to Ron Weasley."

The red-haired, young man passed over a pouch full of galleons, taking a bag full of potions in return.

"I'll have the rest for you at Christmas, and, if you wouldn't mind, could you not mention this to anyone? It's a bit of a surprise."

The store owner's eyes sharpened in suspicion, and then slowly lightened once more. "Of course, of course: all transactions are confidential."

"Thanks then," Ron replied with a grin. "See you."

With a pop, Ron disapparated from the apothecary, appearing some ways away from The Burrow. He'd run across a couple of pretty decent long-term binding hexes last year, so all he needed to do was find his younger self.

Taking a swig of potion, he felt his features already gradually shifting, as everything around him seemed to loom larger. A wave of his wand effectively made his purchases invisible, and he began walking towards his home, only to find himself crashing face first into the ground, as well as being knocked unconscious. So caught up in his successes, Ron had ignored the reality that his clothing was now less than entirely fitting, and tripped over his own pant leg.

When Ron woke up, it was to see one of the strangest sights of his life thus far; he was staring at himself, who was looking right back with equal interest.

"Are you a bogeyman? I never figured they were real when Fred and George mentioned them, but maybe they were telling the truth for once."

Ron (the older, normally, if not quite at the moment one) simply stared back dumbly. What was going on? Where was Harry? Usually his best mate was around when the weird stuff began occurring. Oh yeah: Harry was dead. That thought grounded him entirely, and matters began to make sense.

That was right. After traveling back in time to play the hero, he had managed to trip over his own robes, no longer fitting his much smaller limbs after he took the deaging potion, and knock himself out. Thus, his younger self had discovered him. Way to save the day Weasley. At this rate he would be lucky if he did not skewer himself on his wand, and end his mission that way. Oh well, at least this situation appeared salvageable.

"Have you told anyone I'm here?"

His younger self paled, swallowed dryly, and replied, "S-sure. Course I have."

That was a definite no then.

"Stupefy." The technically the same age, if actually younger Weasley boy toppled to the ground, red hair splayed out. A quick disillusionment charm made him invisible, while a mobilicorpus made certain he would follow along. It was a good thing the Ministry did not monitor underage magic in wizarding households. For now, he could just stow his past self in his room under the bed. By the time he began to awaken, Ron could probably whip up a few binding and silencing charms; this would not be any trouble at all.

1991

"Minerva, I have received some highly distressing news."

"What is it Albus?"

"Someone has managed to access Mr. Potter's vault."

"But how is that possible? You still have his key, don't you?"

"I do."

"Then-"

"I have no idea, Minerva, how the thief managed to make a replica which could fool the goblins. At the height of his power, Lord Voldemort could have done so, but I can think of no other. As well, only a trifling sum was taken: four hundred galleons."

"But that is absolutely senseless!"

"Yes: it is very nearly as senseless as the thief's pseudonym. He called himself Charlie Weasley, who is commonly known to currently reside in Romania. I cannot understand these events in the least, Minerva. Have you any thoughts?"

"It all seems quite preposterous, Albus."

"I concur. I can see no rationality in these events. I fear, Minerva, that it may not be merely the Dark Lord we face now, and, if it is solely he, Tom Riddle has grown far more dangerous than at any time before. Regardless, this time he has missed his prize. Hagrid retrieved the stone just this morning."

"Then it is safe."

"It is as secure as possible for the moment."

1991

"Miss…"

"Wazlib, Helen Wazlib."

"Of course, Miss Wazlib: I apologize."

"Have you received my request for admission?" The chestnut-haired girl raised her eyebrows in question.

Quickly, checking the registry, Minerva McGonagall's reply was equally prompt: "Of course we have. Hogwarts has always been highly efficient in processing applications: particularly those of such high quality. Admittedly, we received your application quite late, but with such excellent references we could hardly refuse. If you could simply try on the sorting hat, we can conclude this business."

The young woman smiled, and picked up the battered, black hat, placing it daintily on her head. If nothing else, this hat brought back memories of happier times.

"You have quite the mind Miss Granger, and I see this is not your first time here. Or would you prefer if I called you Miss. Wazlib?"

"Whichever you prefer is fine, as long as you keep the former to yourself," the witch whispered in return.

"Yes, yes, and I agree. Your identity is better kept a secret I should think."

"Thank you."

"Now then: regarding the sorting, I could place you in the same house again, but, perhaps you have changed. Hmmm… the mind remains sharp and quick; your loyalty to your friends is commendable; you haven't the makings of a Slytherin I would say. All this, however, is little next to trials which would have broken nearly any wizard or witch, and yet you persevere. I believe your aims will be best served in GRYFFINDOR."


	2. Antecedents

**A Matter of Time**

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of the canon Harry Potter characters present in this work.

Antecedents

1991

Harry Potter was having a highly unusual morning. One should note that the young wizard had not anticipated an ordinary day by any means. He intended to take his place in a magical world, which treated him as a hero for something he could not even remember. Harry had been both excited and nervous; now, he was just starting to get annoyed.

This weird woman had been following him around all morning. Normally, the young boy would probably not have noticed, as she was obviously trying to act inconspicuously. The main problem was her hair; it was like having a raging inferno following you around. Until she changed the colour, Harry was quite certain, she would never make a successful stalker.

In the beginning, having the blindingly obvious young lady following him around had been rather amusing. When he noticed that she and his uncle had, coincidentally, arrived at precisely the same platform from Little Whining, where she had first briefly appeared, the wizard had been suspicious. Then she had started, not particularly subtly, glancing out at him from behind a pillar.

Hadn't she seen any good spy movies? Even with the Dursleys, who were hardly enthusiastic about offering Harry any indulgence, he had managed to sneak a few James Bond movies. Couldn't she at least wear a hat? Oh well: he may as well confront her. After all, he had no idea how to get onto the platform after Uncle Vernon left him alone, and, if she cared enough to stalk him, she was probably a witch of some sort.

Not particularly surprisingly, in retrospect, the strange witch gave even stranger advice (he was, by now, fairly sure she was, indeed, a witch). While tacitly acknowledging that she could tell him how to access the platform, the lady suggested that he would be better off asking another red-headed woman who had just bustled in with a gaggle of children in her wake. The bizarre lady had then given him a smile with just the right mixture of longing and affection to completely creep out an eleven year-old who she had stalked all morning. Harry made a mental note to pointedly avoid her, if she ever reappeared anywhere near him again.

The other red-headed woman was somewhat more palatable to the boy who lived. Although clearly preoccupied with her own charges, she spared the time to explain how to get onto the platform for him warmly. Who would ever guess one had to walk through a wall? He may, it seemed, have also made a friend in the process. The older woman's son had seemed to take a shine to him, equally uncertain about walking through a brick barrier. The two, after arriving on the platform, then proceeded quickly to the train, as the boy was worried his mother would get "all mushy." Harry really would not have minded, but as the thought seemed to disturb his acquaintance, he quickly acquiesced, following along to help pick out a compartment.

Ron (the name of the boy whom he had joined) was quickly proving rather unusual as well. He was really nice to Harry, and unlike the wizards Harry had met a Diagon Alley, the gangly, red-haired youth had not yet even seemed to notice his scar. The problem was that Ron was almost too nice. He seemed to be almost compulsively seeking Harry's approval, and, when Harry introduced himself, his arm was shaken so firmly that he worried it might fall off. The other wizard also kept glancing back at Harry every couple of seconds, as if to confirm, yes, Harry was still behind him. Finally, as they sat down in an empty compartment near the middle of the train, Harry decided he had endured enough of Ron's not particularly subtle glances. Whatever the other wizard's problem was with Harry, he could deal with it now.

"Why do you keep staring at me?"

The other boy's ears coloured at their tips as he replied: "I'm not staring at you, just… er… observing the train."

"Don't lie. I saw you looking. What is it? Do you want to see the scar?"

"No. It's just, well…"

For a moment indecision flashed across the taller student's face, before settling into an expression of contrition.

"You're Harry Potter. I mean, it feels like I know all about you, and, I guess I'm sorry. I'll try to stop, alright. You don't have to show me anything."

Harry was quite simply gobsmacked. Everyone he had met in the wizard world seemed to think gawking at him, and taking a peek at his scar was a matter of course, whether he appreciated the attention or not. Ron's looks of worry and concern were what Harry had found strange, as so out of place in his experience. An apology, however, was something he had never been offered before in any sincerity. To be fair, a few wizards had begged his pardon as they peered at him like some animal in a zoo, but Ron seemed genuinely sorry, if the apology was rather awkwardly phrased. Harry almost felt bad for snapping.

"It's okay, I guess. I mean, I understand. Everyone does it, so I guess…"

At these words, the red-haired boy's eyes almost seemed to sharpen. He looked older somehow, as his eyes settled right on the green of Harry's irises.

"No it's not. You're a wizard, Harry, not some bloody hippogriff or unicorn to gawk at, and I shouldn't have acted like you were some fantastic beast. Let's try this introduction thing again. Maybe I won't even bullocks it up this time."

At that last remark, Ron's mouth finally seemed to curve into a semblance of a grin, as his eyes communicated the gist of the jest. Almost against his will, Harry found his mouth curving upwards in an answering smile.

"My name's Ron Weasley. I don't have much money, probably won't make much of a wizard, and the size of my ruddy legs seems to change so quickly that nine days out of ten I can't even keep on my own feet. As an added bonus, as I'm sure you just noticed, I'm such a ruddy tosser that troll bogies won't share a room with me for more than a few minutes. So, wanna be mates?"

He extended his right hand.

Harry simply stared for a moment, and then burst out laughing, taking the extended limb in his own hand, and shaking it.

"Harry Potter," he managed to choke out between guffaws.

Slowly, however, the compartment began to quiet, and the uncomfortable silence attempted once more to reign. Harry still did not know quite what to say to this strange wizard (if unusual in a manner he found highly amusing).

"So, how about them Cannons?"

"Er… cannons?"

"You haven't heard of the Cannons?"

"You mean the big metal things that-"

"No! The Cannons are the finest, er… maybe not. Well, the Cannons are champions among quidditch legends!"

"Er… quid… itch?"

"You haven't heard of quidditch?"

At this, Ron seemed to release a gasp, suddenly deadly serious.

"Well then, mate, I reckon it's time for your most important lessons to begin. I don't reckon there's much more important for a bloke to know about then quidditch."

Thus, the train ride proceeded, Harry battered by quidditch statistics and forced to swear up and down three times that, indeed, he would never dare besmirch the fine name of The Chudley Cannons. Later, other subjects would be broached. Ron explained about his family, displaying his brother's old wand, while Harry made some brief remarks on The Dursleys, and spoke in a more extended manner about muggle gadgets, as Ron insisted his father was crazy about that sort of thing. The entire train ride passed in such a manner without interruption, and, by its conclusion, Harry was certain that he had built a rapport with Ron of the sort he had never previously known.

1991

Ron felt the train ride had been quite successful. Although, he and Harry got off to a fairly rough start (mostly due to his own uncertainty), by the end of the ride, he felt almost as if his best friend had returned from the dead. At times, however, he still stumbled, although, not quite so familiar with Ron's mannerisms, Ron doubted Harry had noticed after the initial awkwardness.

The problem was that, to Ron, Harry Potter was dead. The stupid, heroic berk had gone off alone, and used some sort of sacrificial spell to end You-Know-Who's existence. Ron had seen Harry's body at his best friend's funeral, felt the warring despair and rage at the nearly immaculate sight of the boy who lived's magically cleaned corpse. Whenever he was around this younger Harry, he felt unsure whether he wanted to punch him, scream at him, or cling to him and never let go; it was bloody confusing.

As a result, he had, simply, following his initial errors, pushed those feelings away, trying to pretend that he and Harry were back at Hogwarts again in happier times. Most of the time, this tactic was effective. Due to their years of companionship, Ron had an intuitive grasp of Harry's thoughts, feelings, and reactions. He could head off the boy's darker moods with ease, and keep their moods light for hours at a time. In some ways, he knew his best friend better than Harry knew himself.

Of course, the fact that he knew so much about the future also helped quite a bit. For instance, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy bursting into their compartment would have probably darkened the mood, so he, after the trolley witch had come by, and while Harry had his back turned for a moment, cast colloportus and imperturbable charms on their compartment's door. That bought him time, while giving he and Harry some more much-needed bonding time.

Ron was still uncertain regarding how he should deal with Hermione. The crimson-haired wizard had tried to set aside his emotions regarding her future self because they were too jumbled, but he was not sure how successful he was in that regard. Moreover, he recognized that defeating the troll had played a major role in cementing their friendship, but he was unsure whether he could act sufficiently meanly to have Hermione crying in a girl's lavatory considering that she was, in his mind, one of his best friends. In addition to that difficulty, could he be certain that she would not die? What if the troll managed to kill her? Also, he had started to question whether people who he manipulated into friendship were actually his friends.

Friendship was supposed to be mutual he had been told, and experienced to varying degrees himself. He knew Harry and Hermione well enough to make them his best friends with no difficulty. He could probably even manipulate the course of events so that Hermione fell in love with him: a matter upon which he often fantasized in his sixth and seventh years. If he did take their destinies in his hands, however, were they really his friends? He could not tell them anything important about himself, and might not ever be able to do so. Was he acting any differently from You-Know-Who, even: crafting servants whom he needed for certain tasks? Also, what would happen when he left?

Although he had no idea how, or even if, he could travel back to the future, he knew he could not stay in the past forever. If he was lucky, maybe he could pull a Harry, sacrificing himself in order to vanquish You-Know-Who somehow, but, if not, he would have to either find some way to return to the future, or kill himself. What would happen to Ron's past self then? What if this task took him years? Ron's only certainty was that this time Harry would survive. In fact, if the time-traveling wizard had any control over the matter, Harry Potter would never meet You-Know-Who at all. Harry would grow up happily with his best friends, having innocent fun at Hogwarts.

Regardless, Ron knew he had to start confronting issues such as how to deal with Hermione now. Thus, he had decided to take the matter out of his hands. After meeting Hagrid again, he stepped right onto a boat occupied by that self-same witch and Neville Longbottom, motioning Harry to follow. As usual, before he even began to contemplate speaking, the bushy-haired with had the first word.

"Oh hello. My name is Hermione Granger, and I am ever so excited to have arrived here. My parents are muggles, you know, so they were quite surprised by the letter, but I feel it is all quite fascinating. Did you know that Hogwarts is considered the finest Wizarding academy in Europe? I read that in one of the books I purchased for background reading, of course. None of the course texts would state something so clearly biased. I'm sure you read them all, as well; one should not make a bad impression in the first year."

Hermione said all these words in her usual brisk tone, sounding quite certain and bossy regarding the entire matter. However, he noticed his reactions were quite different from what they might once have been. Eighteen year-old Hermione could still rile him up with little effort. The manner in which he viewed these confrontations, however, was quite different from the way he dealt with matters at eleven. After almost seven years of friendship, this eleven year-old anachronism seemed some cross between laughable and adorable. However, looking towards his other friend, he saw Harry might need some reassurance after that monologue.

"We were supposed to bring books?"

At this fairly clear jest (at least Ron felt it was obvious), Hermione appeared scandalized.

"What? Of course! You are going to be in so much trouble! I mean, how will you keep up between levitating charms and transfiguration and cleaning concoctions? There's so much to know!"

Spinning she grabbed a copy of the standard book of spells, which, for whatever reason, the witch felt was a necessity for trips across the lake by boat.

"Here," she shoved the text into his hands. "I'm not sure how much it will help, but maybe you can get in some quick revision before we arrive!"

Ron merely peered at the tome in confusion, cocking his head this way and that way in mock befuddlement. "I had thought these were paper weights. What do you do with these… books?"

By this point, Harry had more than clued in that Ron was not serious, and was restraining a chuckle with difficulty, while Neville seemed uncertain whether smiling might not get him a reprimand, but the grin was creeping out regardless. Hermione also, apparently, finally realized that he was joking, his last comments too sarcastic, and distant from the realms of plausibility. However, she looked far less amused than either of his other fellow year mates.

Loftily, she thrust her chin upwards, beginning to reply, "That was in no manner a-"

She cut off. The castle had moved into view. Even Ron seemed to freeze for a moment, as he took in the beauty of a peaceful, nighttime castle, so different from when he had last stood outside Hogwarts at night, the Dark Mark painting the sky with jade terror.

Ron simply smiled at the sight, for a moment forgetting his many cares, failing to notice even as Hermione returned to tearing into him for his cheek. Harry was alive, Hermione was nagging, and Hogwarts was whole. He was home.

1991

Hermione did not feel very guilty about manipulating Percy Weasley. The prefect offered a highly logical method for keeping track of the younger versions of Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. If she had stroked his ego a few times, and, perhaps, did some very minor flirting, to win his confidences, her conscience was not yet screaming foul.

Kingsley had assigned one of the most brilliant witches in Hogwarts history the task of keeping an eye on her old school. Along with Tonks, who would be masquerading as a first year girl, Hermione was entrusted with making certain that events occurred roughly as they should at Hogwarts, while he, Ginny, and Lee worked on locating Ron. She knew that Ginny felt annoyed with her role, but she had agreed to follow Kingsley's orders, and, the experienced auror's choices had, so far, been highly rational.

Somehow, Ron had been evading some of the most potent tracking magics in existence for more than a week. Every time a tracking charm was cast of any variety, it simply reported that Ronald Weasley was at the burrow, which had been true. However, they wanted to find the other Ronald Weasley: the fool trying to destabilize causality. As a result, Carrol had postulated that the charms may have an intrinsic focus on objects occupying their correct place in the context of a spatio-temporal framework; however, that was little more than guesswork. Nonetheless, Kingsley had set Carrol to work, in her spare time, on a modified charm which would account for this purported effect; Hermione doubted anything would come out of such a venture until, at the earliest, the Christmas holidays, if ever. Until then, the team had decided to not bother with spells which clearly were not properly working. Thus, the group was forced to resort to less conventional approaches.

Lee Jordan had been put in charge of safe-guarding Voldemort's horcruxes. To Hermione's surprise, the prodigious prankster had been working to design security systems for The Ministry since he graduated from Hogwarts. Apparently, between the recommendations of Fred and George (who already designed all kinds of standard issue equipment by that point, such as their shield hats) and quite reasonable NEWT scores in the requisite areas, Lee had been placed on a team responsible for protecting Minister Scrimgeour himself.

Nonetheless, when Hermione first heard Lee would be protecting Voldemort's soul, she had briefly wondered about their leader's sanity. She understood now that those were places Ron needed to go in order to achieve his objectives, but, nonetheless, the notion of even better guarded horcruxes was chilling. Even if they could remove the various snares and alarms before they returned to the future, Voldemort's traps had been more than well enough designed as she recalled.

Ginny was, in essence, combing all of the places Ron might have traveled, with Kingsley providing back-up, in case she needed help out-dueling her brother. Of course, Auror Shacklebolt was also active at the Ministry of Magic. Apparently, seven years had not aged him too significantly. Thus, whenever possible, and they were certain the current version of Kingsley Shacklebolt was elsewhere, he had taken to masquerading as his past self, acquiring all manner of resources, as well as information, from the auror department. They were each doing all they could, but, thus far, the Ministry's handpicked team remained no closer to finding Ronald Weasley. Ron's effective disappearance was, in large part, the reason underlying her choice of pseudonym. If Ron was monitoring Hogwarts information sources, or in the school proper, he would likely have his memory jogged by the name Wazlib (an identifier only she, Ron, and, perhaps, Harry might have known), particularly in combination with her pointedly shoddy disguise.

While, hair drenched with Sleekeazy's hair potion, front teeth reduced in size, and facial structure slightly altered with a charm, she looked little enough like her eleven year-old self, Hermione's appearance would give the Ron Weasley she was familiar with, at the very least, a huge case of déjà vu. Hopefully, the combination of her appearance and hair would be enough to draw him out of hiding place. If not, the name was, minimally, not one which would require considerable effort to recall.

"Helen, are you quite all right? I hope I am not boring you; I admit, my family is not always the most intriguing."

Not needing to force a grin at the half-familiar uncertainty, Hermione smiled reassuringly at Percy, not needing to force any additional warmth into her voice as she replied, "Your family sounds wonderful. I can only hope you and yours are always so happy."

Percy seemed pleased with the reassurance, as he seemed to see something beyond her for a moment. This sight was fortunate for Hermione, as, just then, she caught sight of a colossal, pitch black torso, supported by proportionately massive bat's wings, through the coach's window, just behind Percy's head: it could only be a thestral. For a moment, forgetting she did not believe in omens and signs, the chestnut-haired witch shivered. It was going to be a long year.

"I wonder, Helen, how your OWLS went last spring? Clearly, you passed well, as you were admitted to Hogwarts, but I must admit a concern regarding my own future trials. You know, my brothers have no regard for…"

Percy's passing similarity to Ron seemed to gradually dissipate as he spoke. It was going to be a very long year.

1991

"Phineas?"

"Our thief appears to have returned, Albus."

"Interesting… What was taken this time?"

"Nothing: however, I believe he did intend to steal something originally. He certainly spent long enough searching the mansion before he left."

"Did you view his appearance this time?"

"Yes, Albus. The man looked about twenty years old, black, and had rather distinctive dreadlocks. I do not believe there should be any difficulty locating such a character."

"Hmmm..."

"Albus?"

"So there are two then, or our wizard is using polyjuice potion, although why the return then I cannot fathom. Either way, your information is quite useful, Phineas. Thank you."

"I do not quite understand your insistence upon opacity in speech. Speak clearly, Albus, or confine your thoughts to your own mind."

"You did not understand, Phineas?" Albus Dumbledore replied, raising an eyebrow, while a smile twitched at his lips. "Then I suppose I could repeat myself: thank you. Now, I have a sorting to attend to old friend. Good evening."

With that, Albus Dumbledore strode out of his office, and towards the great hall. This promised to be a very interesting year indeed.


	3. Assorted Agendas

**A Matter of Time**

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of the canon Harry Potter characters present in this work.

Assorted Agendas

1991

"Brown, Lavender."

"Ah, my dear, I must say that I have been anticipating your arrival. You did not do anything to terrible with the actual Lavender Brown did you? No, I see you did not. Well then, between my previous decisions and your objectives, there is nowhere to put you save for GRYFFINDOR!"

"Granger, Hermione."

"Oh you are a bright one and an opinionated little dear as well. What it seems to me you truly need is a few good friends, which Ravenclaw is not most apt to provide. Your ambitions fit the Slytherin house, but I fear the dank dungeons might snuff out your heart. That heart, not to mention your work ethic, would earn you a fine place in Hufflepuff. However, altogether, and it seems you agree, you follow your predecessor's path: GRYFFINDOR!"

"Malfoy, Draco."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Potter, Harry."

"You are a challenge I have been anticipating for some days, Mr. Potter. You have a talent which I have not seen in decades, not to mention plenty of capability in a more general sense. Your mind is apt, and your heart exudes nearly palpable courage. You seek to prove yourself worthy of your place here."

"Not Slytherin, not Slytherin…"

"An Interesting sentiment: I had not anticipated all of this. I acquiesce then. You shall join GRYFFINDOR!"

"Weasley, Ronald."

"You are another I have anticipated for sometime."

Ron's face scrunched up in confusion for a moment. Last time hadn't the hat said something about brothers or blood, and trial? He certainly hadn't heard anything like that remark.

"Last time? Oh, this is quite ironic. It is fairly obvious where you want to go, but, perhaps, it is not your best choice. For a manipulator of the lines of fate, you don't seem to have very much planned out ahead of time. Ravenclaw, clearly is not consistent with your personality, but Slytherin could serve your also ends. Maybe even Hufflepuff, considering your loyalty, would make a good selection."

"No. I've got to help Harry, and I wouldn't go to ruddy Slytherin away."

"No? I suppose such a choice is your prerogative, but recall, Ronald Weasley, that fate is not a fixed board, and that even the most noble knight wins not the game alone. If such is your wish then, it had better be GRYFFINDOR!"

The next time the hat was worn, it found itself on a far older head.

"Albus, how many seasons has it been since I last found myself placed upon you?"

"Many indeed, for I have not needed you since far darker days."

"You are concerned, headmaster, for your students, school and world. I know little of the latter, but, perhaps, I can offer you advice upon the former."

"That was my hope."

For a moment the hat was silent, as if contemplative. Dumbledore wondered at this curiosity, for the hat's duty was first to the headmaster. No quavering from this course had ever occurred from this course in its many long years, at least as far as he knew.

"No indeed: the duty is clear. Oft, however, an old hat has trouble placing these matters in the proper perspective. Many ages have passed since my making. What is it that you desire to know?"

"How is Harry Potter? Have matters progressed as I had hoped?"

"His upbringing was hard, but, for that, he has come out with a rare strength: tested, yet not broken."

"What of the others? Is there anything about which I should know?"

"They are capable, Albus: perhaps the most impressive group of first years I have ever sorted. What comes will be faced, and faced well."

"Good. Hopefully, then, they will be enough prepared, for dark days lie ahead, my friend. Tom has stirred once more, and I am not sure whether these old bones have the strength left to battle with him for another decade."

"Perhaps, then, Albus, this shall not be your war."

1991

The feast had been everything he remembered and more. After a year of hunting horcruxes, and then weeks of heart-wrenching grief, the food, warmth, and companionship had been a balm, which he had not known he needed until the contented glow of Gryffindor House had surrounded him. Fred was alive once more, cracking jokes with a twin whose hunger for vengeance had never been whetted; Percy no longer carried the burden of having to walk alone, haughtily battling to make a place apart from his family. Dumbledore had even returned to the land of the living, cracked as ever. Most of all, Harry, Hermione and he were together again. Even if his bushy-haired friend felt the need to send periodic, snooty glares towards him, that was not so strange an occurrence in his memories. Everything was as it should be. There was even, in the back of his mind, that feeling in his brain, which, in the past year, he had come to associate with his best friends: the subtle greeting of their skilled legilimency. Wait a moment. Legilimency? Oh no.

Focusing for an instant, Ron detected the direction from which the subtle probing came, his head snapping towards the right end of the table reflexively. Ice blue orbs met familiar chocolate brown pools. Suddenly, he began to relax. Why not just look into the eyes; they were quite nice eyes really; it was a subtle compulsion: bloody hell. Consciously focusing on clearing his mind of all thought, Ron snapped his eyes back to Harry, who was now looking at him in confusion.

"Ron? Are you okay? You were a bit out of it for a minute there."

"Er… yeah: sure, Harry. I just… don't worry about it."

The probing seemed to intensify for an instant to a point just below the threshold of the inexperienced, and then subsided. He hoped she had not gotten anything. That was Hermione: the one with whom he had spent the past seven years. There were small differences in her appearance from what he recalled, but the feel of her mind was unmistakable. Somehow, for some reason, Hermione (his Hermione) was here, in the past, and, considering the note upon which he had left, Ron somehow doubted his best living friend was here to help. Having her around Hogwarts would complicate his problems. Hermione knew how the year should turn out, so she would notice if things strayed too far from their original path. She might even detect his hand in the changes.

This time, Harry gave him a hard poke in the arm.

"Ron, what's going on? That's twice you've been lost in thought in about two minutes."

Panicked, still reeling from his realization, the red-haired youth searched his mind for a reply which a first year might use. "Er… it's just… I've never been away from home before Hogwarts really, so, y'know?"

Harry seemed to size him up for a moment. "Do you mean that you're scared of being away from your parents?"

When Harry put it like that, the excuse did not quite sound so good. He wasn't some sort of Nancy boy; he was in the house of the brave for Merlin's sake. Nonetheless, he couldn't think of a better excuse.

"Yeah, I guess," he replied in a less than enthusiastic tone.

"Right then," Harry replied, having no idea what to say to reassure Ron.

After a brief pause, both boys went back to eating their treacle tarts in silence. While Harry, however, appeared to ponder his new friend's strange contradictions, one moment entirely self-possessed, and the next second plagued by frivolous concerns, Ron considered the changes in his circumstances.

Hermione was a phenomenal legilimens for a witch of her age. She, Harry and Ron had started training together in legilimency and occlumency, during the summer following their sixth year, and, within weeks, she was picking errant thoughts out of his head. He had, of course, having spent a year with a pair of legilimens, picked up a few tricks, but had enough trouble keeping up with Hermione's other plans to help Harry already, and just wasn't that good at shielding his thoughts. Hermione was not even his only concern, as he considered the problem in more depth. Dumbledore, Snape and You-Know-Who were all master legilimens, while at least McGonagall, and probably Flitwick, had rudimentary training in the art. He had a whole life's worth of secrets to keep from a castle full of mind-readers. The professors would probably spend little time in his mind for now, but that would change if he was involved in any unusual events. There was only one solution: he would have to get much better at occlumency.

Having come to a determination, Ron supposed he had better fix his relationship with his best friend. Having Harry consider him a Nancy boy would not offer ideal circumstances, if he wished to guard his friend from harm.

Leaning in near his friend's ear, he whispered, "Want to sneak out tonight, and explore the castle?"

Harry's bleary-eyed stare started to clear at the sound of an adventure.

"My brothers said there are piles of secret passages all over Hogwarts. I bet we could find loads of cool stuff."

Harry grinned at this pronouncement, seemingly intrigued by the idea. Then, his eyes seemed to darken again.

"Won't we get caught though? I mean, I bet the professors know the school way better than us."

"Nope: we won't. I've got something that will make sure of it."

Ron grinned, deciding to remain mysterious for the moment.

"Off you trot," the Headmaster's voice rang across the Great Hall. The tables began to clear, and the first years followed their prefects towards their dormitories. Tonight would be an interesting one.

1997

"Avada Kedavra."

The lethal green flashed towards her more swiftly than she could have imagined, reducing all of her vision to death's jade brilliance. Then it was gone: her head lost in massive tangles of unkempt, black hair. Her titanic shield abruptly fell forward, collapsing to the ground with a crash worthy of any giant.

"Hagrid? No!"

"What a fool. I would have thought that even one so impure would know not to die for nothing."

Lucius Malfoy was right in one regard: Hagrid seemed to have died for nothing. The death eater still held her wand, while his remained pointed at her heart.

"So then, let us resume the festivities. Ava-"

"Reducto," twin voices screamed, and the wall behind her captor exploded.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry exclaimed, cobalt spell power blasting forth, but Malfoy was too swift.

"Protego."

Then, without a word, his wand whipped forward, and a crimson spell shot towards her friend. A second swish had Ron under equal fire.

Wordless shields springing to life in unison, the two found that, rather than deflecting Malfoy's hexes, the cruciatus curses were merely slowed. Without a moment to think, the two wizards rolled away from one another, wands up to deflect more incoming hexes, but Lucius Malfoy was gone, and Hagrid, the kindest man Hermione had ever known, was still dead.

She screamed.

"Helen, are you all right?"

Hermione felt hands on her, gripping her firmly, and heard an unfamiliar name.

"No!"

Wand sliding from her robe's sleeve into her right hand, the witch instinctively hurled a stunner right on target. The grasping hands went slack and the sound of a body collapsing to the floor resonated throughout the room. She was in a red and gold, four poster bed. Where was she? You are at Hogwarts her mind helpfully supplied. Then who had she stunned?

"What's going on?" Rachel's tired voice drifted through the room. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

That left only one plausible possibility for the victim of her stunner. Her heart slowed its racing pace, as she opened the curtains of her bed, looking to the floor. The light of her wand displayed Nora's long hair splayed out around her collapsed body in a golden mess the girl would have never permitted if aware. Hermione felt a moment's self-reproach. How could she have been absentminded enough to forget to place silencing charms? Her sloppy handling of legilimency with Ron at the feast had been bad enough: using a strong enough touch that he had apparently discerned that she was attempting something, even if, as a first year, he could not have comprehended her actual activities. Admittedly, since Ron had discovered her using them in March, she had not been allowed to continue the practice of using silencing charms on her bed for some time, but she could not be awakening her dorm mates every night at Hogwarts; such notoriety could only be counterproductive.

"Obliviate," she whispered in the dark, proceeding then to levitate Nora back into her bed.

Hermione, however, failed to notice that, rather than returning to her slumber, as the time traveling witch had assumed, Rachel was by now wide awake. Silently, she observed her roommate's actions. She also was watching as Helen erected a powerful silencing charm around her bed. What was going on?

1991

"Ah, my dear brother George, do you see what I see?"

"Indeed, indeed, most beloved sibling Fred: it appears ickle Ronniekins is off for a late night stroll."

"Too true: he almost qualifies as a brother after my own heart."

"Just so: if only he was not sneaking out after hours, in order to visit the library."

"This does seem a waste of an excellent opportunity for rule-breaking on his part, does it not?"

"It does indeed."

"Perhaps, we should see that he-"

"Ah no: it appears we are too late. Ronniekins and his compatriot are caught."

"Snared."

"Entrapped."

"Nabbed."

"Netted."

"Fini-"

"George, do you see what my eyes do observe?"

"That would depend, Fred."

"Did you view ickle Ronniekins and Harry Potter walking within one foot of Professor Snape with no consequence?"

"Oh no: there was most assuredly a consequence; they passed him. Such a reality seems most consequential. Moreover, I would argue eleven inches might be a more accurate measurement of distances, and I question whether it might not be better on the whole to deal with mean distance in this case. After all-"

"Come now, George. What I really wonder is how the two ickle firsties have accomplished such a feat. Should we not go ask them, as concerned, rule-abiding upperclassmen?"

"I would agree that we should inform them of the questionable legality of their choices."

"Excellent. Then let us be off to do our duty as responsible, older students."

"Yes, I suppose that we should see whether we will continue to be responsible for all the mischief occurring at Hogwarts."

"Now George: that seems unfair. Lee is responsible for at least half the mischief in this school on every third Tuesday."

"You make a good point, Fred. We should try to be modest, after all."

1991

Ron was an absolute contradiction. After knowing his new friend for less than twenty-four hours, Harry had already decided that the youngest of the Weasley brothers was utterly incomprehensible. He was self-possessed, and yet seemed plagued by chronic doubts; Ron had seemed so full of energy and enthusiasm, but, in the Great Hall, he seemed to spend half his time completely zoned out; now, despite having repeatedly remarked on how everything he had was rubbish, the red-haired wizard just happened to own an invisibility cloak. Admittedly, the cloak was rather worn in some places, but did all wizards keep a few lying around? Harry had seen few things so amazing in his life. Harry did not understand, however, why they were bothering to sneak into the library.

"C'mon, Harry. I told you, I need to pick up a couple of books, and, even with the cloak, we should try to keep this quick."

"Why are we going to the library anyway? Couldn't you do this tomorrow?"

Ron stopped, and sighed in consternation. "We can check out secret passages later, all right? It's just that we aren't allowed to be in the restricted section normally, so I have to sneak in, okay?"

Harry still didn't quite follow why Ron needed books from the restricted section, but was willing to let that pass for the moment. After all, he could find out what Ron was getting once they arrived. Besides, even if trying to keep the cloak covering the two of them was a challenge while walking, sneaking around like this was sort of exciting. He also wondered how Ron knew where the library was located; Harry did not recall Percy mentioning that detail. Maybe his brothers told him.

"Here we are," Ron whispering, quietly opening a rather grand, wooden door. "Let's see if I can't speed this up a bit."

Closing the door behind him, the larger boy raised his wand. Seeming to concentrate on something Harry could not see, he swished his wand around for a moment. That was strange; Harry could have sworn the wand Ron showed him on the train was more battered than his current tool, as well as shorter. He must have been remembering incorrectly, though, because it made no sense for Ron to have two wands.

"Hmmm… Hope this'll work. Accio occlumency books."

Within moments, Harry began to hope that, in fact, Ron's spell had malfunctioned because if having half the library fly at them (or at least it felt like half the library) was his friend's intention, Harry would have to hit him over the head with something rather painful. That was, of course, assuming that they even survived this spell. Harry revised his determination. Intention be damned; Ron was suffering for this regardless.

Harry ducked under a particularly large tome, just as he was forced to jump, in order to escape a shelf which a virtual armada of texts had decided to drag along with them. Unfortunately, ducking and jumping simultaneously is rarely effective. Rather than one blunt object, Harry managed to take both strikes, and found himself hurtling right back towards his incredibly idiotic friend.

"Finite Incantatem!"

The books stopped moving abruptly. It was just too bad about that force of gravity. The tome above him smashed into Harry's back just as he found himself falling onto the shelves beneath him. That hurt.

"Ron, if you ever do something like that again, I'll-"

"Accio books that offer a self-contained primer of superior quality on the subject of occlumency."

Harry tensed, expecting another flurry of dive-bombing books, but was, instead, pleasantly surprised to find that, this time, only four books moved towards Ron: each quite worn and ancient-looking.

"Hah! It worked!" Ron yelled, just as Harry hurled the ridiculously overlarge tome for which he had acted as cushion moments before at his friend's head. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he missed, only hitting the lanky wizard in the gut.

Letting out a huge burst of air, Ron grabbed his side in pain.

"Bloody hell! What was that for?"

Harry simply glared, raising his eyebrows, as if to say, "What do you think?"

Suddenly noticing Harry's current position awkwardly smashed against a bookshelf, Ron's ears reddened slightly, as he sheepishly grinned.

"Er, right then. I suppose I deserved that one. I did get the books though, and with a quick cleaning charm, no one will be the wiser."

At the far end of the library, a displaced book from the restricted section flopped open, and began to scream.

Ron paled.

"Merlin. Harry, get over here! Get under the cloak!"

Understanding the urgency, the boy who lived lifted himself from his painful position and ran. He was just barely fast enough.

The black-haired, hook-nosed professor who had glared at him during the feast had arrived in the library, and he looked quite unhappy. The sight of the room was enough to make him quite furious.

"Where are you? Who did this?"

Careful to remain under the cloak, books held in his left arm, Ron pointed his wand at the teacher, whispering something Harry could not hear. Suddenly far too loud for prudent speech in such a situation, Ron practically yelled, "Harry, we've got to get back to the common room now! Sorry about the passages, but, if Dumbledore gets here, he can see through the cloak."

The emerald-eyed wizard briefly wondered how Ron knew such a thing about the headmaster, but decided to ask later, as there was a far more pressing concern at the moment. At the volume with which Ron just spoke, there was no way the nearby teacher had missed his words. Whirling around, expecting, at best, a confused, searching look, Harry instead found the sallow man still scouring the library, looking away from the door.

"I hit him with a muffliato, so he can't hear us. I can show you later, if you want, but right now we've got to get out of here."

Nodding, Harry followed as Ron opened the door and began to retreat towards Gryffindor tower. By now, Harry had figured out that he had a lot of catching up to do, if he wanted to even pass first year. Even though that weird spell with the books had not worked out quite right, it was evident that his friend knew all kinds of magic already. Hopefully, Ron would be willing to help him reach the level of the students with a wizarding background; he could not imagine how horrible it would feel if he was sent back to the Dursleys for failing first year. He did not think he could survive having to leave this world with his wand snapped. Then he had another, even worse, thought. What if he and Ron were expelled for half-destroying the library? He would be sent back on the train tomorrow, given only a night in this wonderful castle surrounded my magic. At least Ron lived in a magical household. Maybe he could become Hagrid's assistant, and remain here that way. They wouldn't send him back would they?

Sudden footsteps in their path shocked Harry out of his reverie. Someone was coming.

"Ickle Ronniekins, Harry, where are you?"

"We know you're hiding here somewhere."

Unable to suppress his reaction to the end of his time at Hogwarts, Harry gasped.

The jig was up.


	4. Strong Bonds

**A Matter of Time**

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of the canon Harry Potter characters present in this work.

Strong Bonds

1991

"And Farhound makes a brilliant goal. That is ten points to The Tutshill Tornados. I must admit that this game is turning into an absolute route. Cannons fans looking for their first victory of the season against a team which has not seen such a bad year in decades are looking to be disappointed once more."

Ginny reflected that, perhaps, attending a quidditch match was not what Kingsley intended when he told her to search places to which her brother might feel drawn. Ron probably would love to see a game in which his favourite club could conceivably win, but, unless he had gotten his hands on a pile of galleons in the past, her brother could never afford the tickets. However, having access to large quantities of disposable gold was one of the perks of using an unmonitored Ministry account for her search. She needed a break, and this was one night off she could hopefully justify.

Even if he was a reasonably decent bloke most of the time, Auror Shacklebolt was a slave driver to those working under his command. Ginny would definitely have to stroke auror off her list of potential careers. Why couldn't she have been given Hermione or Tonks' role?

Hermione and Tonks had been given permission to spend their year protecting Harry and the timeline at Hogwarts. How unfair was that? They would get to laze around in classes they took eons ago, unconcerned about final marks, while Ginny was sent romping around Wizarding Britain. Maybe she could talk Kingsley into sending her to Egypt: Ron had really liked it there, and she could use some work on her tan. It wasn't as if Ron was just going to spontaneously pop up in front of her; he was evading standard issue Ministry locator charms for Merlin's sake.

Gulping down another mouthful of butterbeer, as the Cannons seeker was taken in by a sloppy Wronski's feint, crashing into the pitch at thirty miles an hour, the youngest Weasley scowled more fiercely. That feint, even if far worse than her one-time boyfriend's move, reminded her of Harry.

That was the worst part of scouring England, Scotland and Ireland. She wanted to help Harry; that was so large a part of her reason for coming on this ridiculous mission. True: she did want to drag her git of an older brother back to his proper time before he caused enough trouble to land himself a life-time sentence in Azkaban. Nonetheless, her greatest desire was to talk with Harry again, and see his emerald eyes twinkling in amusement. Kingsley putting her on this dead end assignment was so boring, and such a waste of everyone's time when there were so many important things for her to do.

Thus, she had devoted her morning to doing reconnaissance: in other words, following Harry around Surrey and muggle London. She deserved the time off, and Ron had spent some time at both Number Four Privet Drive, as well as platform nine and three-quarters. If Kingsley, found out, she had some shaky justifications prepared. Just because she apparently lacked the necessary impartiality, did not mean that she could not give Harry some help. Admittedly, her short meeting with her long-time love seemed to do little more than whet her appetite for more of him, but that was not her fault. The fiery witch simply felt so useless; she was not doing anything worthwhile. She needed to find something interesting with which she could involve herself before the boredom and longing drove her spare. Quidditch just wasn't cutting it.

"And Tornados' seeker Rodgers has gone into a sharp dive! Does he see the snitch? He does, and he's got it! Of course, there wasn't much competition with Cannons seeker Williams smeared across the field, but the Tornados are breaking into celebration. That's a victory for the Tornados: 340-20! What a match!"

Ginny was not expected back at headquarters for a few hours yet. Maybe she could hit The Three Broomsticks: Rosmerta was usually good for some decent conversation. Tomorrow she would be back on her brother's nonexistent trail, so she might as well use the night to her best advantage.

1991

The twins both spun in Ron's direction, and he released a curse under his breath.

"Come on out ickle Ronniekins; we hear you."

In his left hand, illuminated by his wand, Fred was holding the Marauder's Map. Could this night get any worse? Sighing in surrender to the machinations of fate, Ron slipped the cloak off of he and Harry, revealing them to his brothers.

"We're here, you bloody interfering gits."

"Ah, ickle Ronniekins, you should not speak to your elders in such a manner."

"Indeed Fred, methinks we should offer our dear brother a cleaning charm for his mouth."

"You are generous, indeed, George, but I would first like to wonder how our brother got his hands on such a marvelous cloak."

Ron groaned inwardly. His brothers, unlike Harry (who had so little experience in the magical world), would know that he had not just happened to stumble across an invisibility cloak; such things were rare, highly sought after, and, most of all, expensive. Alright then: he would give them a taste of the truth, and, with any luck, his friend might play along.

"Where do you think? It's Harry's."

Harry's eyes popped out of his head at this pronouncement.

"What are you-"

Ron cut his best friend off with a pointed look.

Placing a hand each on Harry's shoulders, the twins sagely nodded in unison.

"Indeed, it is as we suspected."

"In addition to being a heroic defeater of dark wizards, Harry Potter is a purveyor of pranks par excellence."

Ron had seen enough of the twins' antics. They were short on time. Using his unburdened arm, Ron wrenched Harry away from his brothers, virtually dragging his comrade towards the dorms.

"You two nitwits can do this later. Right now we have to get to the common room before the professors find us. They're already probably combing the halls after what we did to the library."

Grinning once more, Fred and George caught up to their brother with a few, quick, longer strides.

"And what would that be Ronniekins? We had figured you were just off to pick up some books," they replied gesturing in tandem to the books Ron held. "Did you, perhaps, make an ickle messy poo?"

By this time, Ron was noticing that Harry had become noticeably agitated. The tall red head knew that his friend hated not understanding events, and must be going spare between the cloak, spells, lies and his brothers. However, before he could move to reassure Harry, the messy-haired boy exploded, digging his feet in so that Ron's progression ground to a stop. His eyes flashed.

"No. Ron hurled half the books and shelves across the library. Now I want to know what's going on. Who are you two? How could you see us, and what is the big deal about the cloak?"

Having said his piece, Harry relaxed, awaiting a reply. Ron, however, was not quite so interested in having said conversation and, therefore, decided to resume his climb towards the tower, pulling along Harry by his left arm with far greater ease than previously.

"Come on. Say whatever you want, but get back to the common room first!"

This time Ron's brothers chose to remain silent, following in their irate sibling's wake. How could Ron do anything like his friend described? Admittedly, he might be exaggerating, but, between Harry's testimony and the evidence of the invisibility cloak, the two pranksters were starting to get the feeling that they had not quite cottoned on to everything. Talking with Harry and Ron might be worth waiting for. Besides only a few stairways had separated them from the common room, all of which were acting quite cooperatively. Thus, almost before they had even come to their determination, the twins were being ushered past the fat lady's portrait by their younger brother, who was now breathing quite heavily from his jaunt.

Still huffing, Ron turned towards his older siblings, glaring. "So how did you find us? We were invisible after all, and I know you didn't see us leave the tower."

The twins exchanged looks, and affected a dignified air. "Now Ron, as your elder brothers, we feel we deserve a few secrets of our own."

"Alright then. We're not telling you anything, and you won't even get to touch the cloak."

"Now, I would think that would be Harry's choice, wouldn't it? It's his cloak after all, and I'm sure he can tell us all about your great adventure in the library."

Ron looked to his friend for support, but found something entirely different.

"Yeah, it is mine." Harry grabbed the cloak off Ron's shoulder. "But that doesn't mean I still don't want to hear how you found us. After all, we were invisible."

Fred and George seemed to exchange some feeling with their eyes and then nodded.

"Alright then: I suppose fair's fair."

Reluctantly, Fred handed Harry the Marauder's Map. All over the map, named dots were moving through the corridors of Hogwarts. Severus Snape tore across the dungeons, while Professor McGonagall swept through the upper levels, and Argus Filch walked straight through what should have been a wall, entering a narrow passageway. In the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Fred and George Weasley were standing fairly near to one another. Eyes widening behind his spectacles, Harry simply stared at the mischief-making tool in disbelief. Ron, noting his friend's appearance, did his best to appear surprised.

"Bloody hell? Where'd you get something like this?"

"Nicked it from right under Filch's nose we did. It's a right useful little toy. So, what do you think, Harry?"

An awed "Wow," was all the boy who lived could manage.

Taking advantage of Harry's shock, Ron peered at another corner of the map: the Gryffindor girls' dormitories. He may as well confirm one of his suppositions for certain, while he had the map. Sure enough, two Hermione Grangers were sleeping a few rooms away from one another. She was here for sure then.

"Alright then. That's our trick, so what were you up to?"

Finally beginning to recover, Harry shrugged.

"I don't know; it was Ron's idea. We were going to go search for secret passages as well, but we got a little sidetracked."

Now Ron found all inquiring eyes on him. He shrugged uncomfortably under the intent gazes.

"I just needed a couple of books, I s'pose: nothing special."

"Of course, of course," Fred replied far too easily. "So I'm sure you wouldn't mind if George and I just took a peek."

In fact, he did mind, but that was of little relevance because, as Fred was talking, George had nicked the tome on top of his stack. Ignoring Ron's protests, the older brother turned to the first page and began reading aloud:

"Occlumency and Legilimency are ancient arts, practiced first by magi of the Persian Empire. These potent magics are used to conceal and reveal the minds of others, often without an unpracticed victim being any the wiser. While legilimency has been considered one of the lesser dark magics for centuries, occlumency has been a requisite study for all aurors since the fourth century C.E."

By this time, Ron had given up hopes of keeping his activities from the twins and Harry. Somehow, he would have to explain how he found out about legilimency and occlumency (undoubtedly inventing more lies in the process). Fred, George and even Harry appeared utterly stunned; none of them seemed to have expected anything like what the book had revealed. George grinned, putting the book down and offering Ron a hefty slap on the back.

"I knew you had it in you, little brother!"

Apparently, agreeing with his twin, Fred echoed his actions with another backslap.

"This stuff sounds brilliant! Can you imagine what we could pull off! I knew we didn't have another Percy on our hands!"

Responding to his brothers' infectious enthusiasm, Ron found a shy grin creeping onto his face. Fred and George had never acted so accepting towards him before. Even Harry was smiling, if a little uncertainly.

"Good on you mate! Hope you won't mind if we borrow a couple of copies." Each twin grabbed a heavy text. Offering their brother and his friend jaunty waves, Hogwarts finest jokers ascended the stairs to the boys' dormitory. "I reckon we've got some studying to do, eh George?"

"Quite so, dear brother. After all, dedication to academic pursuits should always come first."

Fred and George's disappearance left only Harry and Ron in the common room, neither knowing quite how to deal with the other. For once, Harry was the one to break the awkwardness. Stepping forward, he held out the invisibility cloak to Ron.

"Here… er… I guess you can have this back now. Look, I'm s-"

"Don't worry about it," Ron cut Harry off, quirking his lips into a crooked grin. "I should have probably told you ahead of time. We're mates, right?"

"Right."

"Then I figure we'll both mess up sometimes, so, if we're okay, then…" His eyes twinkled merrily as he paused dramatically, "What do you say to some mind reading?"

This time the hesitance was gone from Harry's smile. "As if I need legilimency to read your mind. What's there to know between hungry and starved?"

"Hey! I resent that! I only had a couple-"

"Hundred chocolate frogs. We shouldn't forget about the four lots of roast chicken and steak either. At the rate you eat, Hogwarts'll probably be out of food within the week!"

Exerting his best effort in the attempt, Ron tried to summon up his most justifiably offended expression. Harry was not getting away with taking the mickey out of his eating habits. He would not laugh.

Ron snorted.

It wasn't funny.

The eleven year-old wizard bit the inside of his lip.

There was no way he would let Harry poke fun at him.

"I s'pose that choked up shivering look means that the food's coming back up then? Probably inevitable that would happen. Would you mind if I just left the room first, though? These are new robes, after all."

Ron chuckled, and that was the limit of his self-control, as the laughter came pouring out.

"I'll get you, Potter!"

He lunged for Harry's robe, missing as the smaller boy lithely dodged out of the way.

"Better speed up then. After all, you've only got until morning."

It would not be until far later in the night that Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley finally made their way to their four poster beds.

1991

Nymphadora Tonks did not recall being in any way incompetent, or wholly ignorant at the age of eleven. Although, perhaps, her memories displayed some positive colouring, the young auror felt certain that she had never been as utterly clueless as all of Lavender Brown's contemporaries. Really, the great hall was not all that difficult to locate. The only first year who seemed to agree with her was Hermione Granger. Then again, spending time with her friend's younger contemporary was often quite grating for a host of other reasons.

"Honestly Lavender, can't you chew with your mouth closed?"

Tonks did not quite understand how Lavender Brown's eating habits became Hermione Granger's concern, but, apparently, having decided that Parvati was too flighty for her tastes, Hermione had latched on to the more capable, if notably sarcastic, Lavender in search of a first friend. Thus, she had decided that Lavender simply needed to have her most evident faults corrected. Then she would be an ideal classmate with whom to spend time. At least three times that morning, Tonks had already found herself fighting the urge to hex her new 'friend,' and they had not yet even made it through breakfast. Perhaps, she should have been more sympathetic when Harry and Ron complained about their best friend's tendency to incessantly nag.

Why couldn't anything be interesting be happening?

"Lavender, come on. Classes are starting; we should not be late on the first day!"

Oh joy. She would now get to attend classes on how to appropriately point one's wand, so as not to accidentally hex oneself. If Flitwick told that bloody story about Barrufio and his buffalo again, she would scream. Why couldn't a horde of death eaters make a surprise assault upon Harry, or something like that. She really needed to let off some steam.

Only half-aware, Tonks permitted Hermione to half-drag her to morning classes. Harry and Ron seemed a little bit tired that morning. Then again, she supposed that, at that age, yesterday might have been quite the late night for the two friends. They did, at least, make their way to charms class on time. Indeed, Professor Flitwick was just as stimulating as the metamorphamagus had anticipated; within five minutes of roll call's end, she was fast asleep. That was, she slept for approximately ten seconds before a rather painful elbow ground into her tender left side.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, knocking her quill and parchment to the floor as the clumsy auror shot up, too quickly jarred from sleep.

"Ah, excellent: some class participation! Please Miss Brown, show us your best!"

Having no idea what was going on, Tonks just took out her wand and waved it a bit, hoping he would clarify precisely what she was demonstrating.

Instead, however, the professor merely released a gleeful squeal. "Yes, yes, did you see that, class? That was a perfect swish and flick! You may be seated, Miss Brown. Ten points to Gryffindor!"

Expecting Hermione might have calmed down once the house points were awarded, Tonks was surprised and, quite frankly, annoyed, that nothing of the sort had occurred. The diminutive, bushy-haired witch was already reprimanding her in a hushed tone.

"You were quite lucky there, Lavender, but you need to stay awake. Proper wand movement is crucial!"

"But I have it right, don't I? So, it's no problem."

"Hmmph," Hermione groused, haughtily lifting her chin. "One lucky stroke does not make a fine education. You should show more commitment to your studies."

Hoping to make some sort of cutting remark about how much studying Hermione could get done while spending all her time nagging like some nosy granny, Tonks was most incensed to discover that Hermione seemed to be taking excellent notes as she reprimanded her chosen friend. Unable to think of any other characteristic appropriate for a sufficiently biting retort, the female auror gritted her teeth, and contemplated trying out a silencing charm. This early in her education, not even Hermione could have possibly learned the countercurse to such an advanced spell. Then again, if the witch did figure the counter out, her nagging would, undoubtedly, redouble in intensity. Once again, Tonks felt a faint stirring of pity for Harry and Ron; they actually became friends with this academic monster. Clearly, the two were either idiots or masochists.

"Come on, Lavender! Focus! This part is really important!"

"Argh."

As soon as possible, useful resource or not, Tonks was going to abandon Hermione. Nothing was worth the suffering which she experienced in the young witch's company. She had not even stayed awake during classes when she was eleven. There was absolutely no way she could go through the same torture awake in her mid-twenties.

1991

Ron was fairly bored by the end of his morning classes. He had originally hoped to partner with Hermione during classes, hoping that she would be able to make it look as if any unusual talent on his part was the result of her brilliant advice. Unfortunately, the eleven-year old witch had spent her morning with Lavender. That pairing was awfully strange, but, perhaps, he had changed something. Parvati was certainly looking lonely, while Lavender spent half her classes being nagged by Hermione; Ron doubted their friendship would be particularly lasting.

Instead of Hermione, Ron had spent the morning with Harry, which was a difficult balancing act. Harry had seen him cast some fairly advanced magic already, so he could not simply feign incompetence. On the other hand, with Hermione's future counterpart in the school, he could not have word traveling that he was some sort of prodigy.

Ultimately, the youngest Weasley boy figured that, if he made a concerted effort to improve Harry's skills, he could just keep up with his friend's current ability, and, hopefully, Hermione Granger's capabilities would sufficiently dwarf the rest of the class so that their skills would escape comment. As well, the training was insurance, in case Harry ended up actually facing a dark wizard at some point, although, with any luck, such an event could be avoided. The end result was that, while the professors had taken little notice of Ronald Weasley thus far, his best friend was casting the red-haired time traveler some odd glances.

"Ron, what's up? I know-Oomph!"

As Harry listened to Harry with half an ear, someone, rushing along the halls, knocked into the boy who lived, a familiar bushy-haired head buried in her Transfiguration textbook. Ron thought he saw tears glistening and stopped short. Had he said something? No: he had not talked with or about Hermione all morning. Moreover, this was not supposed to happen until Halloween.

"Hey, Harry, I'll catch up to you later, all right?"

Not even waiting for a response, Ron hurried after Hermione. He had always hated it when she cried, and this time, could not even trace the cause; he had not said anything. The crimson-haired wizard felt that, at the very least, he should make sure that his future friend was alright.

Longer legs swiftly eating up the distance between them, Ron managed to catch up to Hermione just before she ran into one of the girls' bathrooms. Unwilling to lose her after going so far, he quickly blocked the door with his larger frame, panting slightly from the pace he had been forced to maintain.

"Hey, Hermione. What's wrong? You couldn't have messed up a test or anything; we haven't even had one yet."

That was apparently the wrong comment to make. Wheeling around without more than a sniffling sob of acknowledgement, the girl proceeded to walk in the other direction with a desperately swift gait.

"Hey, stop that! I'm trying to help here!"

Practically leaping from his place in front of the washroom, Ron grabbed Hermione by the shoulder, spinning her to face him once more.

"What's bloody well wrong?"

However, not even being red-eyed with tears glistening could steal all of Hermione Granger's inner composure and tendency towards censure.

"Don't s-swear. It's really rude."

Smiling slightly at the familiarity of her words, Ron replied, "Now that's the more like the Hermione Granger I'm used to. How about this? I won't swear anymore, if you tell me what's wrong."

"Why do you care? It's not like you have no friends and-"

"Well, I do care. Mum always taught me that I shouldn't let girls cry on their own."

"Well that's fairly sexist, you know. What if it was a boy crying?"

This time Ron could not resist a small chuckle at the similarity to his previous experiences with Hermione.

"Blokes don't do that sort of stuff."

"Well that's just stupid. If you must know then, Lavender said that she did not want to spend time with me anymore." Hermione choked up at this slightly. "She said that she wanted to have some fun, and that I shouldn't be such a nag, if I wanted to make any friends." At this, the tiny witch burst into tears once more.

As many times as Ron might have thought almost precisely the same words, watching Hermione react to the sting of Lavender's remarks seemed to touch something deep inside of him. His Hermione might be strong and powerful, as well as, if he was being particularly honest with himself, bloody scary, but this girl was so small and hurt. He felt like he had been punched when he saw the heart-broken expression on her face. That feeling, more than anything else, motivated what he did next.

"I bet you don't want to be around me anymore now that you know. I mean, I'm just some annoying nag, and, and…"

Without ever making any conscious decision one way or the other, Ron stepped forward, and pulled the little girl into his arms.

"That's not true at all. You're really smart and, well, great. I mean, you're probably the best witch in the class and you were only trying to help Lavender. If she doesn't see that, it's her problem."

Hermione seemed to have tensed every muscle in her body, while he held her gently. He hoped she didn't mind that he was doing this; he certainly hadn't thought about it before hand. She just looked so hurt, and broken, and not like Hermione ever should appear. After a few seconds, she moved away, out of his reach, and Ron inwardly groaned. He hoped she was not angry. Hopefully, he had not merely made matters worse.

When her face came upward, however, anger was not the emotion which dominated her brown eyes. She looked almost grateful, although something else he could not grasp lay behind those eyes as well.

"Thank you." She blushed. "I mean, you didn't have to do that, and it was really nice. I'm sorry I cried all over your robes."

"Don't worry about it. They were pretty ratty already. D'you want to eat lunch with Harry and me?"

"Er, no, I…" She blushed again, and Ron began to wonder at that occurrence. He did not remember Hermione being quite so shy. "I'll just go back to my dormitory, if you don't mind? I should really study, and do some revision for potions, and clean up, and get some ink, and-"

He raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"You're babbling, Hermione."

This remark stopped the witch short, and her face flushed an even deeper red before her eyes came up again from where the orbs had settled near his feet.

"I do not babble. I am merely-"

"Rambling?" the red-head offered helpfully.

"No. I just… I am walking back to the tower. Yes. That is precisely what I am doing."

On that note, the bushy-haired girl turned, head held high once more, and purposefully ascended a nearby staircase, failing to note that it did not lead in even the general direction of the Gryffindor tower.

Ron merely chuckled. Hermione could be awfully amusing sometimes.

Brisk exit or not, that night at dinner, Hermione sat right next to Ron, flanking his left side, opposite Harry, who sat on his right. Ron's male best friend offered him a questioning look at her appearance, but decided to leave queries regarding her presence for later. He could always find out about whatever happened between the two of them later that night, and the bushy-haired girl seemed to focus the majority of her attention upon Ron regardless. Considering the reputation she was already garnering among the student body, Harry doubted that Hermione Granger would be joining he and Ron in tonight's foray into the secret passages of Hogwarts. Admittedly, they had not been able to come anywhere close to memorizing the Marauder's Map, while Fred and George displayed its contents, but they had seen at least a few interesting locations where they could start. Even if the last one left him slightly tired in the morning, Harry would not trade his late night adventures with Ron for anything.


End file.
